


A Hawkeye Halloween

by Mor-Mor (Not_The_Gods_Favorite)



Category: Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, BAMF Clint Barton, Bad Jokes, Broken Bones, Clint Barton-centric, Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Halloween, Hurt Clint Barton, POV Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 16:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21039482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_The_Gods_Favorite/pseuds/Mor-Mor
Summary: Its Halloween and Clint has to get home soon.





	A Hawkeye Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a #hawklaboration at the Hawkeye Amino! http://aminoapps.com/c/hawkeye

Clint Barton had mixed feelings when it came to Halloween. First, he hated that some people took advantage of the holiday to mess around, making his work harder than it was. And second, he liked it because it gave him an excellent scapegoat for his injuries if any mission had gone sideways. Just like today. 

He was staggering through alleys and less crowded streets, clutching at his side and fingers tight around the handle of a knife as if it was a lifeline. Clint stopped into the darkest spot of the alley he was in, leaning against the brick wall, trying to even his ragged breath, wincing each time his ribs made it impossible. It was time for a check up. He had been running high on adrenaline for the past twenty minutes, the pain of the ribs being the only thing that had bleed through. But other things, like the several scratches, cuts and bruises all over his body, were harder to identify even now when the adrenaline was wearing off. 

He also could tell that one of his hearing aids was busted, the other doing a half decent work at picking up the noise from a party down the street. He only had to turn up the volume, but he didn't want to let go of his ribs or of the knife, so he would have to do. It wouldn't be a problem for much longer, he was 3 blocks away from his apartment. 

He crossed with three people on costumes as he neared his building, but he kept his head down, hood pulled over, even if what he assumed was a concussion throbbed harder if he leaned downwards. Clint thought that that was it for the night, now he was free to rest, but as he stood at the gates of the apartment building he realized he didn't had his keys, which meant he would have to climb up the fire escape stairs, which to be honest would be quite the feat considering his current state. 

He stood in front of the building for about five more minutes and a group of four people with costumes walked by, he couldn't stay on the streets, he needed to get patched up. So, his best option was to climb up the stairs. Clint walked to the alley, eyeing his surroundings before he took a staggering run, jumping to reach one of the bars, hoisting himself up as his ribs screamed. 

He was pretty sure he screamed a little too, laying down face first on the first set of stairs. But he moved quick, no need to raise suspicion from the rest of the tenants. With a breath more fucked up than before, he made his way up to his floor, flicking the safe of the window with his knife and stumbling inside, locking the window again and dragging his feet until he was on the bathroom, blindly feeling the wall for the light switch and letting the room fill with light. 

He looked a mess, like out of a scary movie, which was totally fitting and had worked for him to get him home safe. But right now he needed to get clean, he had to clean his face and tape up his ribs. So Clint took off his aids, dropping them somewhere on the counter as he pulled the hoodie over his head, unzipping the tac vest, biting the whine that threatened to spill past his lips as the movement jostled his ribs.

He made a quick work of cleaning the cuts and scrapes, tapping his ribs and putting some bandages here and there... after he was done, he could have passed for a shitty mummy. He scoffed at his reflection, liking this Clint better, when his face wasn't full of blood. 

Soon the lights of the bathroom were off and he shuffled to his room, making an effort to carefully lay down opposed to flopping down as he usually did, his eyes closed in no time, and he knew he would regret it in the morning. No painkillers and no caffeine on his system would make him a really nasty zombie in the morning, even if by then it would be totally out of season.


End file.
